“Have you ever had the misfortune to witness such behaviour before, Mr Lindsay? I should wager you have not!” Somewhat to Janey’s surprise, Mr Filmore turned to address his visitor before berating her further.
“No.” Mild contempt edged Jonathan Lindsay’s voice like a razor. “But then, neither have I seen such provocation before, being accustomed to the company of gentlemen.” He looked pointedly at Piers who, after being assisted to his feet by his sister, strode out of the opposite door without so much as a word to any of them.
Janey’s hazel gaze flashed back to his in grateful astonishment. She had not expected to find an ally in the aristocratic Jonathan Lindsay.
Holding her gaze, he gave her the briefest of smiles. A smile that made her heart stop and skip a beat. Suddenly, the imminent lecture to be endured did not seem such an ordeal.
“If you knew my ward, sir, you would know my son is blameless in this matter,” Mr Filmore said huffily. “We make allowances, of course—she has never been quite herself since her betrothed died so tragically last year.”
“Allowances!” Janey’s hazel eyes took on a greener hue as her temper rose.
“Jane,” Mr Filmore said firmly, “do not let us have another scene. You do not want Mr Lindsay to think you unbalanced, do you?”
“That is not an error I am likely to make,” Jonathan said coolly. “In my opinion, Miss Hilton is perfectly balanced.” He put the slightest emphasis upon the last word, and Janey felt her insides contract as his blue gaze skimmed downwards from her face to the sharp curve of her waist emphasised by the tightly fitting bodice of her lavender gown. “And it is a delight to see her again.”
“Again?” Mr Filmore said, looking down his sharp thin nose. “I was not aware you had been introduced, Jane.”
“We met by accident, last week,” Janey said dragging her gaze from Jonathan Lindsay’s face. A delight. Was that true?
“In Burton’s Lane,” supplied Annabel with deliberate malice. “That’s where the family of that boy who fired the rick live.”
“Not for much longer, if I have anything to do with it.” Mr Filmore was curt, disapproving. “I might have known you were gallivanting about the countryside again, dispensing largesse to all and sundry.” He drew himself up. “If it were not for me, Mr Lindsay, Miss Hilton would not have a penny of her money left by the time she is of age.”
“Oh, Papa, I am sure Mr Lindsay does not wish to be bored with our little domestic disagreements.” Annabel came forward, all smiles, swaying flounces and bouncing curls, as Janey stood, momentarily stricken, wondering whether Mr Filmore could evict Mrs Avery without notice. “And you have not introduced me yet.”
“There is hardly any need,” Jonathan said, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I know you by sight, Miss Filmore, and by reputation.” His mouth curved a little upon the last word. “You were in Town last Season, were you not?”
“Yes, how clever of you to remember,” Annabel simpered, fluttering her eyelashes. “I did not think you would have noticed me amongst so many.”
“Oh, you are impossible to ignore, Miss Filmore,” Jonathan said drily as his eyes flicked over the pink frills. “Quite impossible.”
“Oh, Mr Lindsay, you are such a flatterer,” Annabel said, twirling one of her red curls coyly about her finger. “Is he not shameless, Jane?”
“Utterly, I fear,” Janey agreed mildly, the corners of her mouth curving in spite of everything. Only Annabel, whose vanity was overwhelming, could possibly have taken what he had said as a compliment.
“Jane,” Mr Filmore said frowningly, as he glanced from Lindsay to Janey, “have you entirely forgotten your manners? Go and order some refreshment for our guest.”
“Of course,” Janey said demurely. “If you will excuse me?” She waited for Jonathan Lindsay to step aside.
“A moment, Miss Hilton.” He touched her arm as she made to pass him, stopping her in mid-stride. She stared down at his long elegant fingers, so brown and firm upon her thin muslin sleeve just above her wrist. It was the lightest, politest of gestures. There was no need for her pulse to beat wildly at the base of her throat, no reason at all for her breath to stop in her throat. And it was ridiculous to have this feeling that her whole life had been leading to this moment, this man’s touch upon her sleeve.
Dragging in a hasty breath, she jerked her gaze upwards to his and found him staring at her speculatively.
“Yes?” Her voice was almost, but not quite, as steady as she would have wished it as his gaze held hers and she caught the gleam of amusement in the indigo depths of his eyes. No doubt he was used to women reacting to him in such a fashion and that piqued her. She did not want to be like the rest…not to this man.
“That matter we spoke of—”
“About the gardens of Southbrook, you mean?” she interrupted him warningly, willing him with her eyes to understand that she did not want Jem’s case mentioned before Mr Filmore.
“Yes,” he said after a fractional hesitation, “the gardens.”
“You will find the camomile seat at the foot of the waterfall,” she went on hastily. “Sunset is the best time to sit there, the light turns the water to rainbows—” She stopped, as close to blushing as she had ever been, as his brows lifted quizzically and he smiled at her in a way he had never done before, a wide slanting smile that reflected the warmth in his gaze.
“Rainbows at sunset?” he said with gentle mockery. “How very romantic for a Radical.”
“It was merely an observation—you really do get rainbows—” she said tersely as Annabel giggled.
“Then I shall go there this very evening.”
She exhaled with relief as he lifted his fingers from her arm. He had understood. But then he understood everything far too well, she thought wryly as she took a step back from him.
“Rainbows!” She heard Annabel snort as she left the room. “I swear Jane is becoming more fanciful by the day.”
Chapter Three
The orange disc of the sun was just slipping below the distant horizon of the downs when Janey stepped out of the woods. A few feet ahead of her was an apparently sheer cliff, out of which sprang a small torrent of water, which foamed and sparkled as it tumbled into the shadowy pool some forty feet below. Above the noise of the water, she could hear the frantic excited barking of a dog; glancing down to the edge of the pool, she saw Jonathan Lindsay, throwing sticks for his liver and white spaniel into the calm end of the pool.
Cautiously she began to descend the narrow zigzag of a fern-lined path that threaded down the cliff, thinking ruefully that it would have been easier if she had been as close a follower of the fashions as Annabel and, hence, would have been wearing a skirt that skimmed her ankles rather than the ground.
The roar of the falling water drowned out the noise of her approach. It was the spaniel who sensed her presence first, dropping its stick at Jonathan’s feet and raising its head to bark furiously.
“Hello! I was beginning to think you were not coming, or I had misunderstood you,” he called up to her as he turned.
“No, you understood perfectly,” she shouted back, wondering why it was that seeing him should give her this peculiar feeling of instant well-being. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said as she drew nearer, “it was more difficult than I had expected to get away.”
“You are still in disgrace, I take it?”
“For all eternity, I suspect,” she said with feeling, her guardians having waxed long and lyrical